


Just A Dream

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angst, Gen, Multiple Personality Disorder, Schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-05 11:58:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3119351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disclaimer: I am not trying to romanticise MPD or Schizophrenia. Based off of John Nash's story/ A Beautiful Mind. Will end tragically, probably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Dream

"I never saw you coming. You arrived and saw me but didn't just see me, you saw my soul, through my eyes, didn't you?" He was leaning forward eagerly, holding your hands tightly, squeezing them, the warmth flooded over you. He was propped on his elbows in the crunchy dry grass under a dark blue sky. You noted the worn book in his hands had _Happy Birthday! I love you Sam! -Jess_ scrawled over the white cover in red ink. His eyes darted over your face, and his mouth was slightly open, smiling. _I don't understand,_ you thought, frowning at the crinkled eyes below you. _It is impossible to see souls._  
"Sam, I can't see your soul."

"Y/N, you can't always take things literally. Jokes."

"Sam, that wasn't was a joke." You pushed a stray piece of hair behind his ear. 

"It wasn't. It was a line from a book Jess gave me one time. But you never make jokes." He gave you a meaningful look and you stuck your chin out. Something inside you cringed as he uttered _Jess._  
"I don't like jokes."  
"Really?" He prodded.  
You shook your head. "No," you responded simply. He sighed, a barely noticable noise and lay back onto the grass. You sat straight, your back stiff. The wind brushed past your cheeks, floating your hair lightly above your neck, just minimally blowing. You turned your head away from the breeze, dragging your gaze over the dry landscape from your stoic spot on the hill. The heat dreamily drifted up from the roots, and Samuel yawned again drowsily, resting his head next to your lap. You glanced down to where his silky hair touched your legs, his peaceful face sunkissed under the fleecy clouds. He smiled, his lips turning up at the edges, his eyes shut lazily. Your hand reached out, slowly making its way through the thick air to his soft, long hair and stopped millimeters from the velvet tangle. Your hand hovered over his head, and you longed, ached to drag your fingers through his sleek hair, and maybe even venture your fingers down to his cheeks, and touch his face, stroke his long, stubbled jaw, trace it like a sculpture and feel his lips on yours. Your hand was shaking and you yanked it back before your fingers did damage to the perfect man resting on your lap. _This is foolish. Simply touch him._ You shook your head fiercely, placing your hands behind your back and squinting at the sun. You sat there for an hour, bathing in the sun with his head next to you. After he scooted closer to you, you stood, stretching out your warm limbs. You started as you realized a man was standing on another hill, staring directly at you, and when you went to nudge Sam to alert him, the man had gone. Suspicion filled you as you poked Sam.  
"Sam, we should leave now. It is approximately 3:00 pm and the car drive will take us about an hour and a half."  
He grunted and stood up slowly, begining the winding walk down to the car.

 

A few days later Sam invited you to a movie near your apartment. As you drove, you made random calculations in your head, doodling in your notebook. _If the movie lasts two hours and it is 8:00 right now, accounting for traffic, weather, commercials and accidents we should return home around 11:21. However, last time we went to a movie the commercials lasted 21 minutes and there were 13 minutes of trailers, so..._ you glanced down at your open notebook, flipping to the page for movies, which contained a graph of commercials and trailers, so you could average the time and see which movie trailers were most popular. You scrawled in the date, making a note that it had taken 12 minutes to prepare and leave. You glanced at Sam, flipping to the clothing page, writing _red plaid shirt_ in the shirt column, _dark blue jeans_ in the pants and making a note for his dark shoes.  


"What are you doing?" Sam's voice floated through your haze and you looked up.  
"You have worn that shirt 36 times before today in the last two months. I suggest you try more variety."  
He laughed, turning the car into the parking lot of the theater. The ringing in your ears grew louder. The blood drained from your face and you grasped Sam's arm tightly. _The man was in the parking lot!_ You shook, burying your face in your knees. You could feel their gazes in your back, and you pressed your face to Sam's hand, fear creeping through your neck. His face contorted in shock at this physical gesture; the first one in four months of 'dating'. The ringing softened, and you raised your head, slowly, cautiously. 

No more man. You swallowed thickly, a shudder ripping through you. A sleek black car slowly drove away and you followed Sam quickly into the movie theater, looking down at the cracked pavement. Inside the theater, people whispered loudly behind you and you couldn't quite hear what they were saying and it unnerved you. The theater darkened and then you were back at his aparrment and Sam was staring at you and you tried to smile but _what had the movie been about?_ It was a void in your mind, like it had never happened and the man was back again, looking from the corner and you shrunk into the chair, gripping, digging your nails into the leather.  
You closed your eyes, cowering into the leather and when you opened your eyes, the sun was shining through the warm window and a soft mass lay next to you.

You squeaked, realizing the mass was a human, a man. His thick arm was draped over your naked chest, and you cringed at the touch. You pulled away from him, kicking with panic. The man rolled over and grinned, diving down for a deep kiss. His tongues invaded your mouth and you squirmed away with disgust. He grabbed your hips, spreading your legs.  
"Ready for round two? You sure were last night," he chuckled, preparing to thrust into you. You clawed at his face, screaming, and he pulled back, confusion drawn on his face as you stumbled out of the bed, snatching up the sheet to cover you. Sobbing, you ran out of the strange man's apartment, and you're out of the building in the streeet and naked with only a sheet, and you panic again, clutching at the thin white sheet.  
Tears run down your cheeks as people start to stare. You sink into a ball on the burning sidewalk and the next thing you're aware of is being in a taxi and you're holding bags of clothing, expensive clothing from designer stores and you catch a glimpse of yourself in the driver's mirror and your hair is short, angular and white blond, and even though fear is etched on your face, your makeup and hairstyle ooze self-confidence. The taxi is filled with a sophisticated perfume, and you step out in tall white heels and a slim dress, clutching the bags with no idea where you are. You recognize, with a sigh, that the taxi has dropped you in front of Sam's apartment and you trip over to the door, sobbing with confusion and relief. The door opens and Dean and Sam pull you inside, and the man in black looks you over from the corner.  
Suddenly you're at a bar, holding a shot and a woman bumps into you.  
"Sorry," she says, laughing. Her stomach is swollen with pregnancy and a young girl trails behind her. Your head pounds, and you smile weakly. She sits next to you, pushing her daughter towards the back room of the bar. "And lock the door," she instructs, whispering over the loud, raucous noises of the bar. "I'm Helena; I own the bar."  
You nod, your gaze wandering to the man in black who is walking towards you. She sees him and starts to leave, and you grab her arm, thinking that maybe the man won't hurt you if you are with another person. You stare defiantly at his blue eyes, surprisingly weary and old.  
"Y/N," he says, tiredly. "Please come with me." You shake your head stubbornly.  
"You can tell me here," your voice quivers. Helena busies herself with her sweater buttons, glancing nervously at the man. He sits, the chair squeaking softly.  
"My name is Castiel. I am an Angel of the Lord." You scoff. He grips your arm.  
"Y/N, you are an angel as well. You are in danger."  
"How do you know my name?" You whisper, fear filling you.  
"Please, listen to me. The calculations you do? That was your job in Heaven. Lucifer has arisen. He is putting codes in newspapers, books, magazines, tabloids. He is taking over the minds of people. You need to stop him." You shook your head, your eyes glued to the counter, studying the chipped marble.  
"Y/N, look at me." You reluctantly raised your gaze to his piercing eyes. "You feel different, like you have a purpose you're missing, don't you? You know there's something bigger." You nodded. "Your memory was wiped. Believe me. Trust me." His words were broken off by two broad men walking into the bar. "I must go. These are the two most popular magazines Lucifer uses. Deliver them to this address when you have found the code. You will know it when you see it. It was the reason you were created." He slid a _Times_ and a _Reader's Digest_ magazine to you, along with a sticky note with an address scribbled on it. You shoved it into your purse, sensing his urgency and standing. Castiel grabbed your hand. "Tell no one." He ran out of the bar, his jacket flying in the wind. You turned to face Helena.  
"What do you think?" You asked.  
She stared at you with big eyes. "This is real, Y/N, I can tell. You should get to work on those magazines. Go! And I'll be here for you."


End file.
